Summer of Deliverance
by LifesVictory
Summary: Summer 1941: Major James Howlett aka Wolverine has always been a lone wolf. Could a young refugee make him change his ways? RogueLogan


**Author's Note:** I own nothing of this, of course. All respects and rights to Marvel Comics. Reviews and criticisms welcome. Enjoy.

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**Note: **I looked up Wolverine's history and bio to find his real name and aliases, as well as Rogue's, too. Also, made exceptions to the time period with Wolverine's adamantium claws because it's too early for him to have them, and madeRogue's mutation less advanced to fit the time period.

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**Chapter 1: The Drunkard**

"Gimme another." The bartender calmly looked up from the beer glasses he was drying and listened to the slurred words of the man sitting in front of him. He whipped his towel over his shoulder and took the shot glass away from the drunken bastard. "Wha' the hell, barkeep? I said, gimme s'more!"

"I think you've had enough, Major," the barkeeper answered, prying the glass from a filthy hand. He was known to refer to any of the soldiers who came into his bar as 'Major' whether they were or not. He doubted the crumpled heap in front of him was even worth the title, but he held his tongue. This war could do strange things to a man; it wasn't for him to judge.

The crumpled heap dragged its head from the bar and squinted at the barkeeper. He lurched forward and whipped a .45 German ruger from the holster at his chest, pointing it at the barkeeper's heart. "I ain't done drinkin' yet, bub, so pour me another fuckin' drink." He cocked the hammer threateningly. "_Now."_

The barkeeper's face hardened. "Now, you listen to me, _bub_," he said in a deadly low voice. "You can come in here and drink my whiskey and eat my food, hell, even steal my cash, and I ain't gonna bust you for it because the way I see it, you and me, we're fightin' in the same war and there's gotta be some exceptions for a man."

He reached out and closed his empty fist around the mouth of the gun, which was pressed against his heart. "But you point a Nazi gun at me in _my_ bar, and I swear to God I will blow your brains out before you can squeeze that trigger." The two men stared hard into each other's eyes before the barkeeper yanked the gun away, then presented it to the owner, handle first. "You best be movin' along, there, Major."

The drunkard huffed into his upper lip in what may have been a laugh, before grabbing the ruger and taking a last swig from his near-empty glass.

"Major James Howlett!"

He froze, hand hovering above the holster into which he had just placed his weapon. The unfamiliar voice was accompanied by the footsteps of one, two, three..._four_ men from what he could tell. They were carrying pieces, too. He could hear the metal clinking against their sides. The voice sounded again. "There a James Howlett here?"

"Who's askin'?" the drunk finally answered, turning around and leaning against the bar. The four men, Navy pilots from the looks of their uniforms, caught his eye and moved over to the bar.

"Would you come with us, please, Major?" The front man, at least six years younger than he, took his arm with one hand. He shrugged him off, and the pilot turned to his commrades. "Listen, Major, I don't want to cause any trouble in this establishment so either you come with us or we--take--you with us, willing or no." Handcuffs glinted from his utility belt, and the smug drunkard snorted.

"Lemme see you try," he growled from a place deep in his throat. The young man nodded and stepped back. All at once the three other men were on him, pinning his arms to his sides and trying to disable him. He roared drunkenly and threw them off, seeming for a moment to gain on them, before they were back, slamming him face first into an unoccupied table, sinking its center. His head crashed against the wood and he saw stars momentarily, numb with alcohol. Cold mouths clamped against his wrists behind his back.

Wordlessly, the four pilots led their captive from the bar, tossing a couple bucks for the damage. The barkeeper watched them leave and wiped the surface of the wooden bar, already forgetting the drunken face as it blurred into the mass of hundreds of thousands of miserable, changed men just like him who would never be the same again. For it was true, the war did damn strange things to a man, things no amount of whiskey could drown away.

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Hope it was enjoyable to read, even if it is just the beginning. Thanks for reading.

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